She stood there, undecided, confused, fingering the mangal-sutra that hung around her neck; clutching the phone in the other - debating the morals and rights and wrongs of what was going on in her head; when suddenly the doors of the elevator opened up; scaring her, freezing her, instilling a sense of terror and euphoria in her.
Her entire life up until that point in time was planned, was meticulous. Everything that had been done, was after careful consideration for the people around her, and for the people around her.
The moment the doors opened, was the moment that life as she knew it, had ended. All her decisions, her contemplation thrown to wind as he stepped out to gather her in his arms. In one fluid moment, she was in his arms and he was kissing her.
A part of her brain telling her that this was wrong, that she was a married woman, that no matter what the culture, it was always frowned upon. That he was a married man, and she would be the despised "other woman" if she allowed this to continue. That he was from half way around the world, and that she was a traditional orthodox south indian brahmin who was married happily (?) and was responsible for people back home.
That part of the brain was annihilated when he held her closer and his tongue began its onslaught in her mouth. His kisses were raw, full of need and want, demanding and dominating, bruising even. It was as if he was holding on to his dear life as he kissed her.
In the middle of a hotel lobby, in full view of people around them, in a foreign country - that is when it began. The story that was destined to stop as abruptly as it had begun. A story that had no beginning or end. All that there was, was this. This moment. this kiss and this passion. No one had any more control on anyone else, except to hold on to each other and let the passion wash over them.
Her entire life up until that point in time was planned, was meticulous. Everything that had been done, was after careful consideration for the people around her, and for the people around her.
The moment the doors opened, was the moment that life as she knew it, had ended. All her decisions, her contemplation thrown to wind as he stepped out to gather her in his arms. In one fluid moment, she was in his arms and he was kissing her.
A part of her brain telling her that this was wrong, that she was a married woman, that no matter what the culture, it was always frowned upon. That he was a married man, and she would be the despised "other woman" if she allowed this to continue. That he was from half way around the world, and that she was a traditional orthodox south indian brahmin who was married happily (?) and was responsible for people back home.
That part of the brain was annihilated when he held her closer and his tongue began its onslaught in her mouth. His kisses were raw, full of need and want, demanding and dominating, bruising even. It was as if he was holding on to his dear life as he kissed her.
In the middle of a hotel lobby, in full view of people around them, in a foreign country - that is when it began. The story that was destined to stop as abruptly as it had begun. A story that had no beginning or end. All that there was, was this. This moment. this kiss and this passion. No one had any more control on anyone else, except to hold on to each other and let the passion wash over them.
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